The Rift
by Sneebs
Summary: When the rest of the team leaves to work on a case, Ianto is left alone at the Hub - or so he thought. The intruders aren't what Ianto expected, though. It's a tall guy with long hair and another with anger management issues and black eyes...and they're an unusual pair. Torchwood s1 and Spn s9
1. Chapter 1

It had been a perfectly normal day for Ianto Jones. The rest of the Torchwood team had arrived at work (excluding Jack, who slept there), played a game of modified basketball haphazardly around the equipment, created a mess at their desks, and then hurried off on another one of their impossible yet frequent wild goose chases. Ianto, of course, had stayed back, keeping an eye on everything and making sure all was spick and span, just like he did and had every day.

On calmer days, such as the one he was living today, where the team didn't bring trouble to the Hub or there wasn't an aggressive, blood-thirsty alien species attempting to enslave the entire human race, Ianto would occasionally become idle. He did his job well, being mostly just the ghost that quietly and swiftly does the house work. It's not as though he was inept in the field of making friends; he in fact had been very close to someone once, but that someone was now lost, her body having been transformed partly and her mind having been lost in the process. Ianto hadn't made an effort to love anyone since then. The closest he ever was to making close friends, excluding the Torchwood team, was the employees at the pizza shop that he always ordered from. (The pizza, like everything else he strived for, was not just for him, but for the others as well.)

Ianto was collecting the tea cups that the others had sipped from at breakfast time before they all rushed off (Owen looking particularly sad about leaving his pastry), and drove off tumultuously in the black vehicle with which they always crowded (and nearly destroyed) on their many treks. As Ianto did so, the empty room was filled with the call of trickling water and sharp clicks as the ceramic cups clinked together. The near silence haunted him as he was left with his own, tortured thoughts.

Yes, now it was really feeling like an ordinary day.

He walked out the door, his mind a reflective pool, his thoughts away from his surroundings. Perhaps this is why he failed to notice it the first time, why he didn't hear the footsteps. But suddenly, he did, and he nearly dropped the teacups as his heart thumped loudly in his ears, which were growing warmer by the second.

Ianto knew fully well that what he was hearing could not be Jack, Gwen, Owen, or Toshiko. They always came in loudly, or at least announced their arrival. And Ianto always knew when they were back, because, well, he was always there to greet them. He was certain it wasn't the team – and yet, he didn't want to believe it.

There was a breach. Someone was in the Hub.

Ianto silently and hastily stepped towards a computer, planning to trigger a lockdown of the base. He didn't wish for anything to escape, or for anything else to find its way in. After all, once a rat's made a hole, others can easily burrow into it. He also knew he should call Jack, alert him of the problem, because it really _was_ the only choice that never demanded brewing over the possible consequences, or worry. A problem occurs, and it's time to call the boss.

Something came over Ianto's mouth, gagging him and causing a very unpleasant sound to escape his throat. Large, calloused hands held him still while another pair tied the bandana that filled his mouth. He was swiftly redirected and pushed into the chair that sat in front of Toshiko's desk, where many monitors hummed melodically, and cast a blue glow onto the face of two men, one with pitch-black eyes and the other with sympathetic, large brown ones.

Ianto's eyes went wide, and he wouldn't have been able to speak even if he hadn't been gagged with a bandana. For as he watched, the shorter of the two men, the one with the black eyes that reflected the light from the ceiling above, blinked, his eyes switching in a moment to a bright, sparkling green color.

"Alright," the green/black-eyed man said in a loud, harsh tone. "Here's how it's gonna be." He pulled something strange from under his frayed green jacket. It was covered in dark, flaking dry blood, and looked like a large, flattened jawbone, pasty white with a crooked row of scarlet-stained teeth on top.

"Dean," the taller one yelled sternly, his jaw tightening and becoming more prominent. He furrowed his brow. "You promised you wouldn't use the blade. You promised because you knew that promises are one of the only thing left that's human about you. Don't break it."

The one who had been called Dean scowled deeply, but after being stared at by the massive, brown puppy-dog eyes of the other man for almost a minute, his expression melted. He still rolled his eyes, but eventually handed over the jawbone with great reluctance. Just as soon as it was out of sight behind the taller man's coat, however, Dean brandished yet another weapon, this one a small and sharp-looking knife.

Ianto flinched as Dean stepped forward, pressing the cool blade against his cleanly shaven cheek, despite the disapproving glare he gained from his long-haired partner.

"Listen up, buddy," Dean whispered harshly once he had leaned in close enough to do so. "If you know anything, _anything _at all, about where the gate is, then you tell us right now. If you don't, well, it's not lookin' too good for you." Then he turned to the other one and gave him a short nod.

Picking a flask out of his pocket and unscrewing the cap, the taller one came closer. Swiftly he splashed some of the flask's content onto Ianto's cringing face. Ianto tried to say something, but only ended up choking on his gag.

The man put the flask away and began to untie him.

"Dude, what're you doing?" Dean said, staring incredulously at him. He put out his arm to stop his partner, but the man merely pushed it back away.

"We can't leave an innocent person tied up, Dean," he began, and Ianto could hear the slight trace of accusation in his tone, like Dean's question shouldn't have even been asked. "He's not a demon."

Ianto frowned, but neither of the arguing men noticed.

"Who cares, Sammy? I don't. He's involved in this whole thing somehow, and just because he doesn't smoke when splashed with holy water, doesn't mean he's an innocent man!"

"Dean, you're overreact-"

"I bet he's guilty of some damn thing, everybody is. What is it, huh?" Dean said, putting his face menacingly close to Ianto's, his eyebrows furrowed and his green eyes scrutinizing. "Lying, cheating, stealing, not paying your taxes, killing-"

"You said you wouldn't let this happen."

Dean halted, though he very much looked as though he could still go on for quite a while longer.

"Let what happen?"

The long-haired man, whom Dean had called 'Sammy', responded with a saddened glance toward Ianto, then down at the knife in Dean's hand, and finally back up into Dean's eyes.

Dean rolled his eyes. He handed the knife to Sammy, then stormed out the door that the two must've come through before Ianto knew they were there. As he went, he mumbled something low under his breath: "This timeout rule is freakin' stupid."

When Dean had left the room, Sammy turned back to his hostage with a small, embarrassed smile on his face. "Sorry about him," he apologized with sincerity. "He hasn't been himself recently."

Ianto watched as Sammy gingerly removed the gag that had restrained Ianto from saying a word. Now, Ianto let his questions be heard in a flood of nervous unclarity. "What's inside that flask? Who're you? Is…Is 'demon' some kind of code?"

"Well, I'm Sam. That's Dean, you've probably already figured out. He's my… brother. He's different, but still my brother." Sam paused for a moment, looking away briefly as though recalling an unpleasant memory or thought. "Before answering anything else, though, I want to get some info out of you. I know about Torchwood, at least what the internet told me. But really, what is this place?"

Ianto eyed the bulge in Sam's pocket where he knew the knife sat. "That's classified."

Sam smiled, even chuckled a bit, though there wasn't much enthusiasm behind it. "Are you really going to pull that one on me?"

Ianto averted his eyes and kept his mouth shut.

Shaking his head, Sam began to turn away and move off toward the exit. He said, loud enough for Ianto to hear. "Dean's not going to be too happy when I tell him I didn't get any answers. I don't know if I'll be able to keep him from using his knife a second time."

"Wait," Ianto said hesitantly. Sam turned back to face him as he sighed loudly. "This is Torchwood Headquarters. You're in the place where all the excitement happens."

Sam nodded. "And… this is where you take care of the… 'aliens'?"

"Sometimes business takes us out of town, but mostly, yeah."

"'Us'?"

Ianto looked around at the Hub's interior. "You don't suppose I could take up this much space alone, you do?"

Sam chuckled quietly. He finally took the chance to glance around the large, underground room that they were in. It was vast, with lots of open space near the high ceiling, and it was quite dark, with the exception of the pale blue light that flooded from computer monitors. There were desks that were laden with papers, computers, and personal items, and the desks themselves peppered the floor in a random pattern. Wires were everywhere, and the walls were constructed of cement blocks that came in an assorted variety of greys and blacks. Stairs led to an upper level, hallways branched out to separate rooms, and on the wall behind him, Sam found 'TORCHWOOD' printed across the black-and-white brick wall in large and bold letters. The entire place hummed gently, and despite being underground, was actually pleasantly warm. In Sam's opinion, it wasn't nearly as nice as the bunker, but it seemed secure and well-built. Also, it didn't seem so spacious once you looked all around you at the many things scattered about on the floor. "Kind of roomy," Sam commented aloud.

"Yeah," Ianto agreed. "It used to be frigid in here, until Gwen finally convinced Jack to raise the temperature. He said something about being worried for an artifact that requires a cooler environment. Whatever that's supposed to mean."

"Gwen? Jack? How many of people work here?"

Ianto was silent.

"Oh, come on. We agreed on not playing the confidentiality game, remember?"

Ianto hesitated.

"Plus, I have a knife." Not that he would use it. Ianto could tell that Sam wouldn't kill him, he just wasn't so sure about Sam's brother. Dean is who scared him, and was the only reason he was speaking to Sam.

"There are five of us."

Sam frowned. "So…they just left you here while they all went out?"

Ianto shrugged. "I'm more of the caretaker, I guess."

"That sucks."

Neither Sam nor Ianto had spoken. They looked back toward the door, where Dean leaned against a brick wall. He had a careless smile on his face, and for a second he looked like the old Dean, the one who rode about freely in his sleek black car, flirted ceaselessly with random women, and ate pie frequently. Now he couldn't even eat pie because it had salt in it. Sam figured that was the thing he missed most about not being human – the pie.

"So you're the lonely one who is left behind to clean up their mess while they go out and hunt these 'aliens', huh?" Dean said, pushing away from the wall and approaching Sam and Ianto.

"Well…" Ianto tried to think of something to say, to disagree, but came up blank. He didn't want some crazy killer with an American accent to tell him who he was.

"Yeah. Basically, that's it. Sorry, man," Dean said before Ianto had given up on his response. He turned to Sam. "I've calmed down, see? Timeout is over."

Sam nodded, but eyed his brother warily. Ianto, however, had a look of curiosity.

"Before," he began, "when you were tying me up. Why were your eyes black?"

Dean shook his head. "That's a long story that I'm not gonna-"

"You must've been seeing things," Sam interrupted. He exchanged a look with Dean.

"Anyway," Dean said, changing the subject. He took a deep breath. "We need you to do something for us."

"What?" both Sam and Ianto said, though Sam said it with confusion.

"Dean, I thought we were done here."

Dean looked at his brother with a look close to shame. "And I thought you remembered the rules, Sam. We aren't finished 'til we've asked all the questions and are sure. Ianto? We need you to keep us a secret. Don't tell anyone we were here."

"No, no I can't. I've already kept enough secrets from the team. Last time I did, people died."

"Yeah, well if you don't help us out this time, more people are gonna die, trust me."

Ianto frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We're handling it, don't worry," Sam said. "We just need you to do this for us."


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a successful day for the Torchwood team. They'd done their usual thing: investigated, then made it safe. Of course, the problem they'd just dealt with was only a weevil. This made it an easy trip, because they had their anti-weevil spray, and a few large nets to help them get the beast into the back of the black van. Now they were on their way back to the hub.

"I'm starving. It's past lunchtime," Gwen commented.

"Yeah? You're not the one who didn't get to finish a perfectly good pastry," Owen mumbled.

"Oh, quit complaining. You've been doing this all day and it's starting to make my head hurt," Gwen replied.

"My head will start hurting too, if you two don't stop bickering." Both Gwen and Owen looked at Jack, who had spoken.

Jack parked the van and they all jumped out. Toshiko, however, tripped, spilling all the contents of her purse onto the pavement. The others were already too far ahead, so she simply yelled to them to continue walking. Though they probably hadn't heard her, they kept walking anyway as she hurriedly picked up the spillage.

"Where's Tosh?" Jack asked offhandedly while they entered the small gift shop that contained the hidden entrance to the hub.

"I'm here!" she answered him, rushing up to the door.

Ianto greeted them, nodding to each of them as they filed down the hallway that led to the biggest room at Torchwood 3.

"Ianto! You should go get us some pizza!" Owen called.

"Pizza in the afternoon? Are you crazy?" Gwen said.

Owen smiled. "Yes, and very hungry."

"I'll go make some sandwiches," offered Toshiko, setting her purse down on her desk.

"Thank you, Tosh!" Owen yelled as the small woman rushed out of sight.

Everyone else, excluding Ianto, went off to their own workspace. The familiar and calm hum of the technology in the room was now joined by an even more familiar and louder noise as the team went about their business.

"I hope it was a good hunt?" Ianto said to Jack politely.

"What?" Jack looked up from a few papers. "Oh, yeah. We got the weevil. I need you to help me bring it in, actually."

"Wonderful, sir."

Before Ianto had even completely turned around to go get supplies, Jack spoke again. "And Ianto? Don't call me 'sir'."

"Yes, s- I mean, yes, Jack."

Jack smiled widely at him, giving him a full range of gleaming white teeth. For a man who had lived through over a hundred years, Jack sure did have nice teeth. Perhaps he had a skilled dentist. Or maybe it was this doctor he occasionally and briefly mentioned. Ianto realized he was still standing there, though, so he continued about his task before pondering any further.

Stepping outside, he was hit by a strong breeze of cool air. Shivering, he wrapped his arms loosely around himself. He of course was used to the chilly weather. This was, after all, Wales. Also, a strong breeze was typical of places near larger bodies of water and Wales was relatively flat, so wind swept over it like a couple of just cracked eggs rolling over a greased pan. Yet, the breeze that Ianto felt disturbed him somehow. He knew it was only the wind, though he couldn't help but imagine it was angry, pushing up against him with force, screaming as it whistled past his ears. It carried the scent of rotten eggs. Quickly, Ianto made his way for the parked van. He had to bring it closer to the Hub so they could transfer the weevil.

Even as he approached the black vehicle, that reflected the little sunlight that made it through the overcast sky, Ianto could tell that the weevil was sensing the uneasiness about the air, too. It was crying, making loud, sad moaning noises that were carried off in the wind. Ianto imagined it was pushing itself into the dark corner, trying to escape an invisible foe.

"Hey."

Halted in the act of reaching for the door handle, Ianto peered around for the source of the voice. His eyes landed on the taller of the two brothers who had visited him earlier. He exhaled in relief at the fact that it was the kinder of the two. "Sam, was it?"

Sam nodded. "What's in there?" he asked, indicating the back of the van with a slight tilt of his head. His hands were tucked away into the pockets of his dark green coat, and even though the coat was zipped up, a small amount of the plaid shirt he wore underneath was visible.

Despite trusting Sam more than his impulsive brother, Ianto was cautious of what Sam might be holding in his deep pockets. He eyed them while he responded, "A weevil."

"A weevil?"

"Yes," Ianto said. "They're like pests, they live in the sewers and account for most of the animal attacks we get around here."

Sam seemed confused. "Do most of your animal attacks occur in the sewers, then?"

"What? Oh, no. Weevils tend to surface once and awhile. Then, it's our job to catch them."

Sam thought for a moment. "Why does this only happen here? I've never heard of or seen one. If they're like pests, then shouldn't they be everywhere?"

Ianto shook his head. "A lot of strange things go on about Cardiff. Sometimes there's a case outside of Wales, but mostly we work here. There's a rift in space and time here or something…Jack is much better at explaining it than I am."

Suddenly something lit up in Sam's eyes, and Ianto could almost see a light bulb turn on over his head. "I have a feeling this 'rift' might have something to do with the case," he said.

Jack was hurriedly finding his way toward where they last parked the black van. Ianto had not yet driven in with the weevil, and Jack was becoming very concerned. Ianto was a very punctual person, and too many things could've been factored in to his lateness, some things worse than others. The weevil could've gotten loose and ripped him into bloody streamers, or an unexpected anomaly in the fabric of time could've pulled him back to the 1940's. Or, less fatal, the van could have run out of fuel or Ianto could've been mugged. Either way, Jack new that something had gone wrong, or else they would be locking a weevil into a cell by now.

His feet beat a steady rhythm into the cement ground as he made his way down the sidewalk. He knew he just had to turn one more corner, then he'd be-

_Blam!_

-fallen on the sidewalk, apparently. He'd taken a sharp turn and collided directly into a man who must've only about an inch taller than himself. The man must've not taken as much of a hit, because he was up on his feet in the half the time it took Jack.

"Whoa there, Speedy Gonzales," he said, sweeping off his tan jacket, then offering a hand to Jack. He wore a plaid shirt under his jacket, and his light-brown hair was cut short.

Jack accepted the man's help, taking his hand and hoisting himself off the ground. "Thank y- oh, hello." The man was handsome, and he smiled at Jack.

"You took a tumble there, man. Where are you headed off to?"

"I'm looking for a friend," Jack replied.

"I'm just out running errands, and it's too late to be off alone. Why don't you let me help? I can drive you." The man smiled again, but this time Jack noticed the expression didn't reach his eyes.

Jack snuck a peek around the corner, where the van should've been visible, but neither it nor Ianto were there.

Dean had to constantly remind himself to drive in the lane on the left side of the road as he took directions from the man in the passenger seat. When Sammy and he had come over the Atlantic Ocean, they had traveled by boat instead of by plane, due to Dean's terrible phobia of flying and the incident a few years back with the phantom passenger, which had only made Dean's fear of air travel worse. Dean had managed to persuade Sam to let them bring the Impala. Though it had been a rough trip, they'd made it alive. (Sam still dreaded the idea of getting back onto that boat on their way back to the states.) The car he was driving now was his beloved Impala, and he gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles ghostly white, as he nearly hit another car. "European drivers are crazy," he mumbled under his breath.

He'd planned on running into who he assumed was a member of Torchwood, to give Sammy more time with Ianto. He was supposed to be a lookout, but so far, he hadn't had a chance to call his brother and give him a heads up. However, he still had an idea, so he pulled out his phone with one hand, while keeping the other on the steering wheel. Dialing up Sammy, he excused himself to Jack.

After the first ring, Sammy picked up. "Dean?"

"Yeah, hey honey."

"Dean, are you feeling alright…?"

"Of course I got the milk, dear. But I'm gonna be a minute because I'm helping someone find their friend,-" Dean looked over toward Jack, whispering, "Who?" and Jack replied with the expected answer. "-Ianto."

"You're in the car with someone from Torchwood, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"I'm going to get out of here. Meet me at that pizza place…I think it was Jubilee Pizza."

"Don't worry, I don't plan on taking too long. Love you. Bye."

Dean put his phone away, relieved Sammy understood.

"Running errands?" Jack said.

"Yeah, for my…uh, girlfriend, Sam." Dean said, trying to appear honest. He'd lied frequently in his past, but had never been able to keep his secrets forever. At least this was a mostly random man. Dean decided it would be easier to lie to him than to Cas or Sam, both of who he cared for. Giving the man a sideways glance, Dean said, "So, uh, what's your friend look like?"

"Attractive, black suit, brown hair, blue eyes," Jack replied with a bubbly, light voice. He waved his hand in the air nonchalantly. "I'm sure he'll be fine out alone, he's a grown man. I just need him to help me out with something back where we work, and he's been out for a while."

Dean knew the man was lying, of course, probably because he himself was lying to Jack, and hey, a liar knows a liar. But what if Jack did know about Dean, and how he was lying to him? He had been giving Dean a plastic smile and a cold eye the entire car ride. Or perhaps Dean was simply imagining things. Despite his calm stature, Jack intimidated Dean slightly.

"Yeah, well," Dean responded, feigning nonchalance, "I'm sure we'll find him in less than an hour. From what I've seen, this area isn't too big."

"He has a tendency of getting tied up in bad situations, though," Jack said.

Dean kept his eyes on the left side of the road, hoping he wasn't being betrayed by the way his hands nervously gripped the wheel. His knuckles were ghostly pale and he pulled his resistant lips into a strangled grin. Nodding, he took a quick look over towards the passenger seat to see Jack staring at him curiously. God, how he wished the man would stop looking quite so skeptical.

Jack shifted, and it was obvious he was about to speak by the way he opened his mouth for a moment, then took a breath. "You might actually recognize him."

"What?" Dean said, his best imitation of innocence plastered onto his face. "No, dude, you've got it wrong. Me and my brother – I mean, my girlfriend - are just visiting, we have no idea who this Ianto guy is."

"That's right, you were with your brother at a bar. I remember, you were going around asking everyone if they'd been experiencing anything odd lately. Aside from that being strange itself, you are also a remarkably handsome man, and I wouldn't forget a face like yours."

Dean stopped the car, right there in the middle of the street, which wasn't that big of a deal, since the roads appeared to be relatively clear. The absence of the noise the engine produced created a painful silence, the man boring his blue eyes into the place where Dean's soul should've been. "Okay," he admitted, "we were at a bar the other night. In fact, we've been at a lot of bars. You see, my brother is a marine biologist, and I tagged along with him while he's doing his little project. I mean, all he would've brought back for me would've been one of those 'My Brother Went to Wales and Only got Me This Lousy T-Shirt' shirts. I'm not gonna wear that!"

Jack shook his head, and though the suspicious look was wiped off his tan face, he still didn't seem to believe Dean. Actually, this merely made Dean more uncomfortable, the way that Jack so easily accepted his excuse. He wasn't _that_ good of a liar, was he? Dean was glad to start up the engine again and let the gentle roar of the Impala's heart crash through the quiet night.

The car ride was mostly silent after that, except for the few occasions when Jack would recommend going down a certain street, or suggest that they get out and search specific stores, which they did. Jack still seemed oddly cool, and sometimes like he was about to say something, but he never did. Eventually they halted in the same general spot where they'd started. Jack got out, a look of worry on his face, the door slamming behind him. Dean got out also, but closed the door carefully.

"I don't know where he'd be, man," he said, sounding disappointed.

"I'll probably find him best now if I can get my other friends to help me. We're…kind of a team."

"Do you need my help?" Dean said, hoping he appeared to be genuine.

Jack shook his head. "No. Thank you." Then he quickly disappeared around a corner.

Dean frowned. It'd been too easy. Jack had been simply too easy to distract, and to get rid of. Dean sensed a trap, his gut churning. The way Ianto had described his teammates, they were exceptionally skilled at catching things that weren't human. Shouldn't Jack have been able to notice that there was more than one thing odd about Dean? He shivered, and instead of getting into the Impala and driving off to meet Sam and Ianto at Jubilee Pizza, he made his way down the same sidewalk Jack had just walked down.

He went around a corner just in time to see a flap of Jack's trench coat whip around a building. He pursued, breaking into a light jog to keep up. Soon, he stumbled upon a large patch of cream-colored cement. It was empty, devoid of Jack, or any other human. A lonely bat swooped overhead, trying unsuccessfully to catch prey. A piece of garbage, a small plastic bag, slid down the sidewalk, carried on the soft breeze. Dean peered around, one hand resting on the pistol inside his jacket pocket. He was so on edge that if anything made a sound he'd shoot-

And suddenly, in a frantic fury, bullets were flying everywhere. They were all coming from Dean's gun, of course. Someone was behind him, tightening a net around his body and tying a bandana over his eyes. He didn't flail, however. He was eerily calm, and he managed to shoot one of his targets even with his eyes covered; he could hear the bullet entering their flesh, and their yell. Someone quickly tore the gun away from him, though, and he was left seemingly defenseless.

"Tie his hands and feet, we're bring him back to the Hub," said a warm, familiar voice with an American accent. It was Jack's voice.

Dean smiled. "Hi Jack! I just came to help."

"We don't need your help," said someone else, a woman. She was loud and her voice was rude.

"Especially not if this is the kind of help you're offering," another added, a male.

When firm hands began securing his hands and feet with a strong rope-like material, Dean reacted. He hadn't wanted to, had in fact tried to control himself, but had failed. In an instant, the firm hands were torn away from him as the human they belonged to was hurdled across the concrete. The sound of their skull nearly cracking on the hard surface gave Dean an odd sense of pleasure. He only smiled larger.

"You're sick! What did you do to him?" screamed the rude-sounding woman, followed by hurried footsteps.

"Don't mind me," said the male voice bitterly. "I'm just the one who's shot. Go ahead and help the immortal."

Dean could almost taste the hateful glare that the rude woman must've sent to the man he'd put a bullet through. After a moment of silence, however, the rude-sounding woman yelled, "Tosh, tie him up!"

Again, hands began tying the strange rope material around Dean's hands, yet this time the movements were jerkier, and the hands were hesitant. Taking advantage, Dean pulled his hands loose of the unfinished knot and punched the owner of the hesitant hands in what was presumably their face. They produced a small _oomf _sound as he tore the bandana off of his eyes. In one sweeping look, he viewed the entire scene around him.

Jack lay on the ground, a hand gingerly testing the back of his skull, coming away wet, and a woman with dark long hair and freckles stooped to help him. An Asian woman, who carried a black purse and had her black hair tied up in a ponytail stood up next to Dean, wiping a small amount of blood off from under her nose. She seemed terrified, though she had sustained a very petty wound compared to her friends. A fourth person, the man who Dean had shot, was over to Dean's right, fidgeting with a gun while simultaneously attempting to cradle an injured arm. The sleeve of his right shoulder was darkening, glistening in the lessening light that broke through the overcast sky. He seemed in pain, but tried to hide it as he raised his gun in his left hand.

"No, man," Dean said, raising a hand toward the gun that was pointed at him. "Just don't." The weapon flew out of the man's hand, landing with a _clink _on the sidewalk about ten feet away.

"What the hell are you?" he asked, frowning. He kept a calm face, but Dean knew he was frightened greatly. He could hear his heartbeat, ready to burst the poor man's chest open. _Ba-boom ba-boom. _It was all so obvious, the way the man blinked too much, the thin film of sweat that was gathering above his brow, and the slight shaking of his hands. The man was alarmed, and he wished he had his gun, wished that he wasn't so defenseless, so vulnerable. He wished that this monster before him wouldn't tear him up, to end his life in some unconceivable way. To rip him open like a juicy blood orange and leave his face as unidentifiable as his intestines. Inside, this man was crying for his life.

And Dean _liked _it.

**I hope you're liking it so far! I'm kind of changing the Deanmon plotline so that Dean retained a small amount of his humanity, and continued to hunt with Sam after the end of season 9. **

**If you're enjoying it, or want to say something, leave a comment. Tell me if I should upload more chapters!**


	3. Chapter 3

Owen was terrified. He'd seen some strange shit, but whatever was standing before him, the thing that could look like an ordinary man had it not been for the wicked smile that played across his lips, filled him with a brewing sense of dread. Owen wished not to remove his eyes from the unrestrained menace, yet he forced himself to turn his head for a second to check on Jack and Gwen. He also saw Tosh, who was on the other side of the "man", running to retrieve her gun, which appeared to have also been thrown across the concrete by some invisible force.

The thing began to slowly approach him, and Owen held his hands up in the air. "What are you going to do?" he mocked, though now was not an appropriate time to let his big mouth loose. Still, he found he could not restrain himself. "Rip me apart like some savage animal? You're no better than a weevil, and you're about as ugly as one, too." The last part, he knew, was entirely a lie. The man was actually quite handsome, even as his demonic grin transformed into a small snarl.

"I don't want to hurt anybody," the thing said, only three feet away now. He stopped, his head tilting off to the side as he studied Owen. "I prefer to finish my business cleanly. You know." He slid an index finger across his neck, then shrugged.

Owen gaped. "You can't honestly think that that makes it any better."

"You're right," the thing agreed. "I don't. I just can't stop. It's kind of a bad habit of mine."

Then suddenly, _bang! bang! bang! _Three shots were fired from Gwen's gun. All of them went right into the thing's chest. He looked down with a look of shock, his hands fumbling with his shirt, where a growing patch of dark red was spreading, causing the cloth to glisten and turn a shade blacker in the feeble light of the now setting sun. Swaying slightly, he looked back up, with an expression of hurt and betrayal. "Well, what was _that _for?" The expression changed to one of amusement as he not only remained alive, but also leaped toward Owen with the speed of someone who had not just been shot three times.

"Owen!" Tosh yelled, throwing his gun back towards him. He caught it right before the "man" landed upon him. But it was too late.

They both had disappeared.

Sam impatiently checked the time on the little clock on the wall, which hung crookedly and had a minute hand that would occasionally jump back, only to speed forward again like a jolty amusement park ride. He tapped his foot incessantly and glanced, a sheepish and apologetic smile on his face, toward the girl at the counter of the pizza shop.

Where was Dean? Sam was growing more and more anxious by the minute. He'd talked on the phone with his older brother not a quarter of an hour ago, yet he could feel in his bones that something had gone awry. Dean was never more than five minutes late, if what he was doing didn't involve pie or monsters trying to kill him.

Though, there was one thing. It was something that hung on the edge of Sam's mind every day, something that wouldn't release its grip on his thoughts. Sam couldn't help but wonder if maybe Dean had finally…

No, he refused to believe it. Dean was strong, and he had always been the best big brother, if at times a bit stubborn. Dean was a hunter, he ganked monsters. He didn't allow himself to become one of them. Except, lately his violent episodes had been becoming more frequent and intense, and Sam had noticed the increasing amount of effort he had to put into calming his brother down.

_No. _Sam looked at his feet and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Dean had to have just run into some trouble navigating his way to Jubilee Pizza. After all, they _were _in an entirely different country, and the rules of the road had to be different.

Sam noticed the girl at the counter giving him a wary look out of the corner of her eye. He cleared his throat as his cheeks and ears became hot. He realized he had been standing by the door for the last fifteen minutes without giving her any explanation as to why he wasn't ordering anything. "My, uh…my brother is running late."

"That's okay," she said in response, though her expression said otherwise.

After checking the clock once more, Sam sighed. As he opened the door and stepped out into the chill wind that was picking up, bells tingled above him on the door. He barely heard them, though. His attention had been grabbed by something in his peripheral vision that had moved. Ducking, he slid a knife out of his pocket (he and Dean hadn't even bothered to try smuggling guns through customs) and moved so his back was against the wall.

The temperatures had noticeably dropped since he'd entered Jubilee Pizza just a little less than half an hour ago. It was mostly the wind's work, with its frigid touch. Sam wanted to wrap his jacket closer around his body and be warm.

No, what he_ really_ wanted was to jump into the Impala's passenger seat and drive around Cardiff with Dean, investigating and maybe visiting some of the local attractions as an aside. He had thought that he would finally be able to spend time with his older sibling and healthily communicate with him, as family should. After all, they only had each other, and they did have a lot of healing to do, if they ever got back to normal again.

Normal. The word seemed foreign to Sam, almost alien. He hoped that things could be the way they were when Dean first arrived to take him away from Stanford. Back then, their lives weren't quite as messy, and not so many people had died yet. Another part of Sam, perhaps more a more logical part, knew that things could never be like he wanted them to be. His and his brother's lives were so tangled in all the shit that had happened in the last ten years that even if they had a time machine, Sam doubted things could ever return to the ways they were. Even with Cas's ability to travel back in time, or hell, even if they had all the might of heaven on their side, they wouldn't be able to fix things. It's impossible to put all the toothpaste back into the tube once it's squeezed out, after all.

Nothing unusual had happened for a while, and as Sam scanned the street around him he figured the movement in his peripheral vision must've only been his imagination toying with him. He'd been on edge a lot, recently, what with Dean and all. Maybe he was hallucinating, and his nightmares were becoming false realities. Or, perhaps his eye had only been caught by a mere scrap of airborne litter, or a bat. Were bats a common sight in Cardiff?

Then Sam spied the black van, parked in the shadows. It was expertly hidden, just not hidden well enough to escape Sam's searching gaze. The vehicle was the Torchwood van that he'd seen earlier when he had been speaking to Ianto. Then, there had been a weevil in the car, making the most heartbreaking moaning noise. It had sounded to Sam's ears as though the creature had run entirely out of hope, and had become dead-like and glum like a car out of gas.

"Ianto?" he called, his voice carried away by a sudden gust of wind that snapped at his hair, making it fly across his face. He slipped the knife he was holding back into his pocket and looked around again. "I know you're there."

From around a corner bathed in shadows, Ianto appeared. He wore a guilty look.

"You followed me?" Sam said. "Or are you going to tell me you just got the munchies for a pizza?"

Ianto shook his head. "I want to help you with this 'case' you're working."

Sam snorted. "Spying on me isn't going to help. It's just creepy." He frowned. "And besides, you're already doing something. Look, my brother and I like to do certain parts of the work alone. It is great that you're offering, but no thanks. We got this."

"It sounded pretty big," Ianto said. "You could use help. And if it's like any of the things that usually go wrong in Cardiff, then you will definitely need help. You'll need the assistance of the entire team-"

"No," Sam said sternly. His fierce expression melted away after a second. "They can't know about my brother and me. It's too much of a risk," he finished quietly.

"Isn't the risk that you have on your hands if you don't tell them bigger?"

Sam regarded the agent's words with weariness. Sure, when deciding between saving possibly the world and saving Dean, he should automatically choose to save the world, even if it meant losing his brother, the only family he had left. But Sam knew he would always choose Dean. It would be okay if he saved his brother, and the world crumbled all around them. At least he wouldn't have to live the rest of his life without him.

But, was he really saving Dean by keeping him and himself a secret from the rest of the team? The way it was now, there was no risk of anyone finding out above the Mark of Cane, or recent events. Wasn't that the best way to go about this?

_Yes, _Sam reassured himself. _It is. _Sam and Dean had been able to stop the apocalypse together, they could fix whatever big thing was brewing here in Cardiff. But, Sam couldn't fix it alone, and in the state that Dean was in…

"Look, if you want to tell me something, I'm all ears. But don't snoop around," Sam said. He was afraid for Ianto, and what Dean would do to him if he ever caught him sneaking around.

Ianto put up his hands in front of him defensively. "Okay. I won't." He backed up in the direction of the Torchwood van. Before turning around and walking off, he said one thing, "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

The van's headlights came on, lighting the pitifully bald bushes around the vehicle up like mangled Christmas trees. It came to life with a growl, and rode off, a black shadow roaring through the street until it disappeared somewhere beyond Sam's view.

Sam watched until he was left there alone in the cold.

Dean still hadn't arrived. It had now been over half an hour.

He had no idea what to do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! It's been awhile – I'm deeply sorry about that! Between NaNoWriMo and finals I've been pinched for time. I wrote this the first night of winter break, but never got around to editing it until now.**

**So, I hope you enjoy!**

Owen was hesitant to open his eyes, once he regained his footing. A strange sensation had come over him when that thing had run at him and knocked him down; a feeling of the floor suddenly dropping out from under him, as though he was at the gallows. His breath was sucked from him, some invisible vacuum grabbing, tearing at his lungs. He would have made more noise if he could have, but the only sound he'd been able to manage had been a surprised _oomf! _as he was torn off his feet. He waited, expecting to hear the others' calls. Yet, it was completely silent, all except for a meaty thump beside him.

The report of this sudden noise caused his eyes to shoot open. His heart raced as he came to the realization that he was no longer in Cardiff.

The ground was barren and here and there small attempts at vegetation could be seen. There were plenty of dried, brown weeds wiggling their ways through the cracks in the stale, dusty brown ground, which blew around in circles as the breeze fluctuated, then settled, like the raspy breath of an old man; but overall, all that was visible from where Owen stood was dirt.

He took a deep breath and instantly began coughing. The air was grainy, frigid, and arid, and it pressed down on his shoulders, an unpleasant weight. He brought his eyes up, and shielding them with his hand, he found it, that golden orb in the sky, staring right back down at him with a ferocity that forced him to glance away. The sky was clear, and so pure it was as though someone had tripped, spilling a fresh can of vibrant, pale blue all over. It contrasted mightily with the sorrowful brown that dominated the terrain.

"Aw, hell."

Owen jumped with a start, his neck on a swivel. He found the monster who had attacked him and his team picking itself up from the ground. _Where's my gun, _he thought as he hurriedly searched his clothing. Then he halted, remembering it had been knocked away from him back in Wales. Wherever he was now, he was sure he was very far away from there. But still, there had to be a weapon somewhere.

The creature was on his feet by now, and was taking its time, leisurely sweeping dust from its jeans. It eventually looked up, its gaze landing on Owen.

Owen's heart stopped. The thing's goddamn eyes were black again_, _and they were right on him. Pitch black, they were like two fragments of space that had been woven and squeezed into a pair of crystal bulbs.

It smiled toothily, displaying rows of dazzling teeth. It blinked, and suddenly the black in its eyes was gone, replaced with a pale apple green. This made Owen blink, because the thing now looked like a perfectly average man, not a monster. But if Owen had learned anything, it had been that sometimes the most toxic dangers can come in disguise.

It peered around, seemed to find something on the horizon, then set off at a brisk pace.

Owen, left quite literally in the dust, followed after him. He wasn't sure what to do, and although he knew this thing he followed could turn around any moment and most likely kill him, he found himself running to catch up to it. "Hey!" he yelled, his voice sounding very small amidst the desolation of their surroundings. He glanced around again, a bit unnerved by the openness.

The thing looked back at him over his shoulder briefly, but continued to stride toward his destination. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," he responded, his eyes straight ahead.

"Where are we? What the hell have you done!" Owen said.

"You think _I _did this?" It smirked. "Buddy, you took words right out of my mouth."

"No, you're the freak who jumped on me. You're responsible."

It shook its head. "I have no more of a clue than you do. For all I know this could be Utah!"

That was unlikely. Owen knew that if it hadn't done anything to get the both of them into this mess, than the thing at fault had to be the rift. It had done unexplainable shit before, this wasn't too big of a leap from its norm. But, he severely doubted that they were in Utah; the rift had never transported anyone to an entirely different continent.

The two of them moved forward, and shapes began to grow from the horizon. They continued, and became more defined. Squinting his eyes, all Owen could make out were brown...structures? As he followed the thing at a brisk pace, he watched as before him, a small town grew out of the dirt. It looked old-fashioned, like a set that would be found in an old western movie.

They neared the town, and the thing stopped abruptly. Owen caught scent of horse feces.

"Fan-freaking-tastic," it mumbled, as Owen stopped beside him. "Not this place again."

There was an arch above the dusty path that wound through the town, splitting it into two halves. On that sturdy wooden arch, made out of three whole skinned tree trunks, was a painted sign that read: SUNRISE WYO.

The thing moaned audaciously. "Out of all the places on the earth we could have ended up in…"

"Sunrise?" Owen said. He looked around and saw they were now in a wooded area. Evergreen trees of some sort crowded in around the small buildings in front of them, surrounded by lots of wilted, yellow brush. He huddled into himself and rubbed his hands together. In the thirty minutes they'd spent walking there, thick clouds had gathered in the sky, masking the sun.

"I never shoulda gotten rid of that sarape." It proceded forward, looking at the buildings, which seemed to blend into the ground. Some of them were actually becoming part of the ground - their wooden walls and roofs were rotting, and they emitted a pungent stench that stung at Owen's nose, as though he'd just whiffed ammonia.

"Where are we?" Owen asked.

It sighed. "Wyoming. I been here before, awhile ago." He paused. "It looks exactly the same as it did in 1861."

Owen was taken aback, but when he spoke, he did so flatly. "You look young for your age."

"What? No," it said, blinking. "I wasn't alive in 1861. I just...visited."

How many time travelling aliens were there?

"We should ask the locals. If we're lucky, there's an airport somewhere nearby," offered Owen.

Without speaking another word, the thing ducked into one of the one was larger than the others. It appeared as though it had another story, and there was a sign hanging above the swinging doors that told Owen with large painted letters that it was a saloon. He followed the thing inside.

As soon as he stepped through the doorway, he found the air to be so heavy with the smell of old wood and alcohol he nearly choked on it. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting inside, and even when they had, it was still dark. The only light came from the scattered oil lamps - vases pinned to the walls, with dancing flames inside them - and the needle-like rays of sunlight that poked weakly through the uncurtained windows.

Owen found the thing speaking to a withered white-haired man who was wiping dishes clean behind the bar. He approached them, pulled by curiosity.

"Clint, I see you got some new clothes, even stranger this time," the bartender was saying, regarding the thing with a small eye that peeked out from under a bushy, white eyebrow.

_Clint?_

The thing huffed. "Shoulda seen my sarape."

The bartender ignored its comment. "Where's the giant that was with you just a moment 'go? Ya got someone else with you." He nodded toward Owen.

"Oh, don't worry 'bout him. Might as well be the dirt on the bottom of my-"

Owen stepped forward, cutting it off. He smiled at the bartender without showing any teeth. "Hello, I'm Owen. Would you excuse me and my…friend...for a moment." Then, without waiting for an answer, he grabbed it by the arm and pulled it away.

The thing looked at him curiously, tilting his head and furrowing his eyebrows. "What?"

"Can you tell me what the hell is going on?"

The thing glanced around, then leaned in, speaking in a hushed tone. "Elkins, the old man I was talking to? He's the same guy who was here in 1861."

Owen frowned. "We've traveled back in time over a hundred and fifty years?"

It nodded. "Ain't the first time I done it." After a second his expression turned overcast. "Shit."

"Huh?"

"Wait a sec," it said. "Hey, Elkins!"

The bartender looked up from his glass.

"Am I sheriff?" it asked the old man.

"Are you _what_?" Elkins said, his face contorting with confusion.

The thing turned back toward Owen, a goofy smile that was most likely inappropriate in the situation. "He said I just walked outta here with Sam. I'm not sheriff yet, either. That means-"

"That means you just almost knocked into yourself," Owen finished.

"Which is bad."

"Very," Owen agreed. "Wow. How the hell did we get here?"

It shrugged. "Don't ask me. You're the one who works for a shady billion-dollar-group that has no trace on the internet."

"Oy, you're the creepyass alien with black eyes," Owen snapped back.

It rolled its eyes. "Alien? Come on."

"Are you boys gonna buy sumthin'?" Elkins called.

Before heading toward the door, the thing whispered, a faint smile on his lips, "Don't wait for Elkins to hook you up a date with his best girl."

Owen lingered back for a second, wondering what it meant. He figured he didn't want to find out.

This is why for the second time, Owen found himself following the mysterious thing, who he had no clue about. There was nothing else he could do, for he was stranded, and he had a feeling the only way that he would find himself back home, was if he kept close to the thing that had attacked him.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean stepped out into the gloomy and weak rays of sunlight that fought to be cast down through the overcast sky. A chill breeze greeted him, whispering through the dry weeds and pushing up small grains of dirt, which tickled at Dean's nose and scratched at his exposed skin. The scent of the soil and horse manure wafted to his nose, carrying memories from the last time Sam and him had been there in the quiet town of Sunrise, Wyoming.

They'd been searching for an ingredient to defeat the Mother of All with, and they had needed it quickly. However, the ingredient in question had been extremely difficult to retrieve, and had required traveling back in time - to the very place where Dean stood now. Dean and his brother had nearly been trapped in 1861 in their effort to get the ashes of a phoenix. But this had happened several years ago, when Bobby was still-

A pang of remorse chimed inside him like a bell, making him feeling empty and sick. He shook his head, dismissing his train of thought. He couldn't let the events of the past get to him and impair his chances of returning him to the present.

_Damn, cruel irony, _Dean thought, and he couldn't help but smile sorrowfully. _To deal with getting out of the past, I first need to forget _my_ past._

Then there came a noise from behind him, a swishing of heavy doors swinging on their hinges. "You!" said Owen, stomping towards him, an accusatory finger extended and pointed at in his direction.

Dean sighed. _If only I could get this guy off my back. _The man had caused nothing but trouble for Dean, and the hunter still wasn't ready to forgive Owen for letting a member of his team shoot him multiple times in the chest. Even though it hadn't inflicted any permanent damage in Dean, and the wounds had healed remarkably quickly, it still hadn't been a pleasant experience.

Dean looked at Owen with a blank expression. Just then, he noticed that the man was wounded; a scarlet patch stained the sleeve of his coat. Dean couldn't keep the guilty frown off his face; he recalled firing a shot and hearing it hit somebody, and he knew that the bullet must've entered Owen's arm. "You're bleeding."

Owen glanced at his sleeve, seeing the blood that had stained through his jacket. "Oh, bugger," he said, rolling his eyes. "It's ruining my clothing. And you know who's fault that is?"

"Yeah, just be glad I hit your arm and not anywhere important. You were lucky I wasn't able to see, or you wouldn't be standing there right now."

The comment seemed to keep Owen quiet for a moment as the man considered it. Dean guessed it was one of the rare moments where the agent wasn't complaining about something.

Owen pursed his lips and studied Dean for a moment, his eyes searching the hunter's face. After awhile, he asked with all seriousness, every trace of his earlier demeanor gone, "What are you?"

Dean laughed softly to himself and peered at his feet, before bringing his eyes up to meet Owen's. The look on the agent's face made it appear as though he was afraid Dean's eyes would turn pitch black again, but Dean's eyes remained a soft, light green. "I'm Dean Winchester."

"Where's Ianto?" Toshiko asked urgently. She and Gwen hoisted Jack as quickly as they could through the door and into the gift shop that served as a disguise to the entrance of the Hub. Both of the women cringed when the door slipped from behind Gwen's foot, knocking Jack in the head with a painful _crack_.

"I'm here," said Ianto, rushing in behind them. He held the entrance to the shop open, allowing Gwen and Tosh to easily slip inside the rest of the way. Ianto froze, staring at Jack's bloodless, ghost-like face, which was usually animated and tan. The time-traveler appeared much older than he should, with dark shadows below his eyes, and flesh the color of an overcast sky. "Don't tell me he's died."

Gwen shook her head. "Thrown like a doll, and it feels like he cracked his skull, too. We don't know what it was that did it."

Tosh supplied more, "The thing that attacked Jack and the rest of us jumped for Owen - no doubt intending to rip him apart." A look of great fear washed over her. "The both of them disappeared, and we've no clue where they've gone."

Ianto's eyes widened. He hurried ahead of the women to open the next door, which entered into a cool, dimly lit hallway. Once they were through, he followed after them, a frown on his face. "Did you see the face of the beast that attacked you?"

Gwen was the first to reply: "Yes, actually. It looked like a man, but it wasn't. It _couldn't _have been. I saw it's eyes turn black, blacker than you could imagine. And, it was quite handsome."

_Oh no. _Ianto's heart dropped, and as he walked he could swear he heard it squishing around in his feet. It was Sam's brother, Dean. Who else fit the description so perfectly? Ianto tried to ignore the headache that bloomed in his head and focus on the urgent matter at hand. He knew Dean, with his violent temper, couldn't be trusted to control himself. After all, if Sam had not been there to stop him, Dean would have probably killed Ianto when they first met.

"We have to lay him down somewhere before he wakes up," Tosh said, shattering the silence that had fallen over the three.

It wasn't difficult to do this; by now the medical table, which Owen used for surgical purposes, was only a few steps away. Once the three were beside it, they worked together to gently pick Jack up and lay him gingerly on the table's cold, metal surface. Afterwards, they all stood back and watched.

They waited for forty minutes, fifty minutes, and then an hour. Eventually Gwen turned to the others and asked, "Do you think he'll wake up?"

Ianto stared at Jack's white lips. Lying there, he looked so gray and pale he could have blended into the metal table below him. "Of course he will." Ianto hesitated before adding, uncertainty creeping into his voice: "He always does."

"The thing that attacked us, though….it was powerful…" Tosh said.

Yes, that certainly made sense, unlike everything else that had happened in the last few days. Ianto knew Dean had to be incredibly strong to overpower four Torchwood agents by himself. Also, if Dean was responsible for the vanishing act that Tosh had described, then that would be a sure sign that the black-eyed man had more power than anticipated. To pull off something like that required a large amount of energy, enough to rip into the bindings of space and jump into the vortex. To do something so giant, Dean must have had something to help him. Jack had an instrument that strapped to his wrist, Ianto knew - Ianto had seen it. Where would Dean have found something like this, though? Had he come with it, or had he stolen from the Hub? The latter was a strong possibility; he and his brother were both extraordinarily stealthy on their feet. Ianto had learned this when the brothers had broken into the Hub.

If Dean had stolen one of the artifacts… Ianto gasped. Jack always warned of the terrible things that could happen if they ended up in the wrong hands.

Another possibility came to his mind, however. It was possible that Dean Winchester was not the one responsible for the disappearing of himself and Owen. It was possible that the thing to blame for their vanishing was the rift. It had always caused trouble, why shouldn't it start swallowing people? If this was really the case, Ianto hoped that the rift was spitting the things it swallowed back out somewhere, and not just sucking them from existence. Even if Ianto didn't care for Dean Winchester, he still wished for his colleague to come back alive.

Whether Dean had stolen an artifact, or the rift had taken a bite out of time, chewed it up, and spit it out elsewhere, Ianto wouldn't be able to rest until Jack awoke and Owen was found, which were two things he knew wouldn't happen without intervention. That meant that Ianto would have to do something, and quickly.

He barely paid attention to Gwen and Toshiko's calls as he rushed down the hall and out the door.

Ianto needed to find Sam, and quickly. The hunter needed to know about what had happened, and what his older brother had done.

He'd run out into the night with just a coat and a flashlight, and had been searching every nearby inn and bar. He didn't dare take the black Torchwood vehicle; Tosh and Gwen would be able to track him if he did, so he so took every step on foot.

Sam could easily find Ianto if he needed information or assistance, but Ianto had no way of finding Sam. This was proving problematique - especially in a time like now. Sam had specifically told Ianto that he couldn't tell the rest of his team what he knew about the Winchesters. As far as they knew, the two hunters didn't exist. But this meant that Ianto had to do everything on his own. There were plenty of things that Ianto was good at doing, even when he was alone...but searching all of Cardiff for one man was not one of them.

As he neared an intersection, Ianto came to a stop. He scanned the sidewalk and store fronts all around him in one last hope that Sam would suddenly appear, but to no avail. It was hopeless, he decided. He had to get back to the Hub without finding the younger of the two brothers and giving him the news, or else Tosh and Gwen would comb the entire town searching for him. What all three of the remaining Torchwood agents really needed to be doing, was making sure they were there when Jack regained consciousness. Ianto was hoping that when his boss awoke, he'd get some answers. There was a chance, albeit slim, that Jack knew what Dean Winchester was.

Ianto turned suddenly. He grabbed for the gun stored in his back pocket and held it out in front of him. He'd heard something...some_one. _Someone had been talking.

"Hello?" Ianto called out.

He waited for a response, but there wasn't one.

"Hello?" he called again.

Still, he was met by silence. His voice echoed off of the empty street and the darkened and locked stores.

"Hel-"

Ianto's third call was interrupted as a thick hand clamped over his mouth. Ianto tried to struggle, but the man had a strong hold on him. Still, Ianto continued to try to kick his assaulter, until he pulled a knife and held it to Ianto's throat. He could feel the metal blade's chill touch, which discouraged him from struggling. He quickly stilled, like a rabbit that's just spotted a hawk diving down on it, sharp talons poised and ready to pierce.

"You're working with the Winchesters," came a gruff voice from just beside his ear. His head was yanked back, and Ianto saw that his captor had pitch black eyes. But this time, it wasn't Dean. What he saw, though, made him wish that it was.

There were two of them - the one that held Ianto down, a muscular man who looked to be in his mid-thirties and had the shadow of a beard growing, and the other, a tall, slender woman who appeared to be in her forties. Both had black eyes, and grins on their faces that gave Ianto a grinding sense of dread.

"What do you want?" Ianto said, trying his best to sound unafraid. Still, his voice was small, like a child's.

The woman tilted her head, her curly bob of yellow hair shifting as she did so. "What do _I _want? Well, I want you dead. I want to destroy all those you care about and bathe in their blood. I want to bring the Winchesters both down to hell and claim my reward for it. But, this isn't about _me. _This is about...you," she said, taking a deep breath before the last word. She smiled again, making a sinuous shiver travel up Ianto's spine at the sight of her perfect teeth.

"I don't understand," Ianto said. "Who are you?"

She ignored his question. "You know the whereabouts of Dean Winchester?"

He frowned. If she was searching for Dean, then she could join the club. Ianto's only hope of finding out where the man was was by first finding Sam, who might know what was going on.

The woman grabbed Ianto's shirt and yanked him toward her, snarling, her teeth bared like a rabid dog's. "Do you know where Dean Winchester is?" she repeated.

"No, no," Ianto said, shaking his head. "I've no idea."

The woman didn't seem to believe him. She pulled a knife out of the back of her pants and held it up against Ianto's throat. "It's not good to lie to me."

"I don't know where he is!"

The woman lowered the blade until it rested on his collarbone. His skin felt cold as it bit into his flesh. Blood welled underneath the skin and rushed out of the wound as Ianto yelled out in pain.

"This doesn't have to happen anymore. Just tell me his location, and the both of us will leave you alone." She was smiling sickly. She moved the knife down an inch, then pressed into the skin again.

"Hey!"

Ianto and both of his attackers turned to find the source of the voice, and found Sam, standing a few feet away. He held a gun in his hands, which was pointed toward the woman's head. She laughed.

"Sam Winchester," she said. "Come to join the party?"

"Let him go," he demanded.

"Oh, but the fun was just starting!" she exclaimed. The knife pressed into Ianto's skin further, and he bit his lip, unsuccessfully stifling a cry.

_Bang, bang!_

Two deafening shots rang out, ricocheting off of the street and surrounding closed storefronts. The hands holding him loosened, and the knife fell to the ground, though the stinging sensation remained.

Both of his attackers fell to the ground with a thud. They glowed a bright red for a second, before there was a sizzling sound and the color disappeared, leaving corpses on the gray sidewalk. They looked uncannily like average humans...Ianto shivered.

Sam slipped his pistol back into his clothing. "You alright?" he asked, stepping closer. He inspected Ianto's cuts. "Not too deep," he said. "You will need stitches, though."

Ianto nodded. He could tend to his wounds later, but at the moment… "I need to talk to you," he said.

Sam glanced around them, his eyes searching for something. "Sure, but later. Right now, we need to get out of here."


End file.
